


Nice Save, Asshole

by WhatIsAir



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Harpies, Idiots in Love, Kanima, M/M, Nogitsune, and some angst, featuring various supernatural creepy crawlies, maybe some unresolved sexual tension, sea nymphs, thanksgiving baking disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIsAir/pseuds/WhatIsAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek visibly refrains from rolling his eyes, and before Stiles can protest, scoops him up into his arms, carrying him bridal-style from the gym.</p><p>“Shut up, Scott,” Stiles groans, as Scott opens his mouth, a smirk curling his lips.</p><p>Or, 5 times Derek saved Stiles, and the 1 time Stiles saved Derek's (admittedly very fine) ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Save, Asshole

“I’m going out, Dad! Be back soon, see ya!” Stiles yells in the general direction of the kitchen as he lets himself out the back door very, very discreetly.

He turns and walks right into his dad on the back porch. Judging by the shears in his hand, he had decided to try wrestling the weeds around their garden into submission again. Judging from the Sheriff’s defeated expression, it hadn’t worked.

“Yo, Dad,” Stiles says, waving innocently with the hand that isn’t clutching a duffel bag that holds a couple coils of rope, chains, and his dad’s spare set of handcuffs. (It’s the full moon tonight.)

“Yo, son,” Sheriff Stilinksi says, frowning as he eyes the duffel in Stiles’ hand. “Going somewhere tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m staying over at Scott’s, if that’s okay.” Stiles squares his shoulders and does his best to project ‘not guilty’ vibes at his dad.

“I thought it was pizza night tonight,” his dad says, and _shit_ , Stiles totally forgot about pizza night.

Stiles does some quick thinking. “Uh, we said _tomorrow_ was pizza night. I really gotta go, I told Scott I’d be there by five.”

He sidles past his dad, striding towards the gate before any more questions are thrown at him.

“Stiles!”

He turns at the gate to see his dad jogging after him, a length of rope in hand. “This fell out of your bag.” He crosses his arms, narrows his gaze at Stiles. "You wanna tell me why you need this much, or any, rope for a sleepover at Scott’s?”

“Um, about that –”

A horn sounds just then. Stiles looks over to see a familiar black Camaro pulling into the driveway. The driver’s side window rolls down. “You ready, Stiles?” Derek asks.

“No, he’s not,” Sheriff Stilinski frowns, marching over to the car. “He’s not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what you three are planning on doing with _this_.” He dangles the rope in front of Derek, pinching it between thumb and forefinger and regarding it with the same amount of disgust he gives vegetables.

“Dad, I – we, that is, Derek and Scott and I, we’re gonna,” Stiles says in a rush, with not a single clue where he’s going with this. H gives Derek his best ‘help me’ expression over his dad’s shoulder.

He thinks for a few awful moments that Derek’s not going to help, that he’s going to drive off and leave Stiles to his fate, but then – “We’re building a raft,” says Derek, deadpan.

Stiles wants to punch him in the face.

“A _raft_?” His dad turns back to scrutinize him, his eyebrows climbing comically high on his forehead.

Stiles shrugs, doing his best to look contrite and like someone who’s excited to build a raft.  “Yeah, Dad. Remember how Scott and I always wanted to go canoeing down by the lake? Well, we figured a raft’s easier, so why not?”

His dad lets him get in Derek’s car eventually, though the dubious expression never leaves his face.

“Seriously?” Stiles says incredulously, watching his house disappear in the rearview mirror. “Raft-building was the best thing you could come up with?”

“Because you were doing _such_ a great job explaining to your dad why you have industrial-strength rope in your overnight bag,” Derek says, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Why do I even hang out with you,” Stiles moans, thumping his forehead against the dashboard.

“My winning personality and sense of humour,” Derek tells him, straight-faced.

-

“I told you this was a bad idea!” Derek shouts, somehow managing to level a glare at Stiles even as they sprint through the woods, Derek weaving through them expertly, Stiles crashing through the underbrush noisily.

The two of them had been scoping out the meadow where a nest of harpies had taken up residence, wanting to make sure they weren’t looking to cause the residents of Beacon Hills any trouble. That is, until Stiles tripped on a tree trunk and fell smack into the middle of their nest. Squashing a couple of eggs in the process.

Needless to say, Mama Harpy had not been happy.

And now they’re running breakneck through the woods, multiple wailing harpies right on their heels.

“Now let’s not – point any – fingers,” Stiles pants, because all of Finstock’s cross-country training couldn’t have prepared him for this. “You were – the one who – suggested leaving the Jeep.”

“Yeah, to remain _undetected_!” Derek snaps irritably, “Because we didn’t wanna provoke the harpies. But then you s _at_ on their children, Stiles.”

“Heh,” Stiles pants, having passed the threshold of winded and entered the realm of _fiery agony along his entire side_.

Derek slows his pace to match Stiles’, and Stiles is about to tell him to quit being chivalrous and just _run_ , except then Derek scoops him up easily and keeps running, seemingly unbothered by Stiles’ 147 pounds.

“I am _not_ some damsel in distress,” Stiles protests, pushing weakly at Derek’s chest. The alpha’s got him cradled in his arms and is currently sprinting at well over the highway’s speed limit, taking the two of them away from the angry mob of harpies hot on their tail.

Derek lip curls into a smirk. “Never said you were."

" _Ugh_ ,” Stiles groans, because the bastard doesn’t even sound winded. "I can run, too, you know.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, still running at approximately a hundred miles an hour, “Just a lot slower.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, even though he has about a hundred witty comebacks he could say. Instead he just loops his other arm around Derek’s neck and holds on.

-

Stiles watches from the floor as the rogue kanima sweeps Scott aside with a flick of its tail, sending his friend careening across the length of the BHHS gym. Scott crashes into the bleachers, groans as he struggles to get up.

The kanima’s forked tongue snakes out as it cocks his head and slowly begins advancing towards the far side of the hall.

“Come on, Scott, come _on_ ,” Stiles mutters, frantic gaze sweeping the floor, looking for something, anything, that could possibly be of help.

His head snaps up at a loud hiss from the kanima. It’s got Scott hoisted in the air with its talons, Scott’s struggling rendered useless at the angle he’s being held at. Stiles can hear his friend’s laboured breaths from across the room.

“Hey, asshole!” he yells, in a desperate bid to take the creature’s attention off Scott.

The kanima’s turns in his direction, eyes narrowing to slits as it appraises Stiles, sprawled on the floor cradling his sprained ankle.

Stiles clambers to his feet slowly, using the wall for leverage. He raises a taunting eyebrow at the creature, beckons with one hand. “What? Too scared to go against all this?” He gestures at himself.

At that, the kanima lets out a frankly terrifying howl. It drops Scott without ceremony, who lands none-too-gently on the floor, and leaps across the hall in one fluid motion.

“Ah,” is all Stiles can think to say, as the kanima advances slowly, taking its time. It bares its teeth at Stiles, whose heart is beating so hard he worries he’s gonna end up bruising his ribcage.

Stiles stares into the creature’s reptilian eyes, wondering if this is it, if this is the end, for him. He barely gets a split second’s warning before the kanima pounces.

He doesn’t feel the sting on the back of his neck so much as he feels the sudden loss of movement in his limbs. He tumbles gracelessly back down to the floor, helpless to do anything but watch as the creature crouches over him, talons raised to deliver the blow.

The talons slash down, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. And then – nothing.

Stiles cracks open one eye, then the other. The kanima’s gone, and instead he’s staring dumbly up at Derek, who’s staring down at him with a mixture of worry and concern.

He cranes his neck to the side, and sees the creature lying a few feet away, its neck broken. “Thanks,” he tells Derek, “was starting to worry you’d never show up.”

“Are you okay?” Derek says, raking his eyes down Stiles’ body (and _wow_ , how many times has Stiles dreamed about Derek doing just that? Under different circumstances, of course). “Stiles?” Derek asks again, voice urgent, “Did it hurt you?”

Stiles shakes his head, realizes too late that his range of movement hasn’t fully recovered yet, and it probably only makes him look like he’s having a seizure. “Nope,” he finally says, “Just paralyzed from the neck down. Again. No biggie.”

“We need to get out of here.” Stiles looks to the side to see Scott clambering laboriously to his feet and making their way towards him and Derek. “We don’t wanna be here when its master shows up.”

“That, that is a great plan,” Stiles says, “But, uh. I might need some help with the getting out of here part. Still paralyzed.”

Derek visibly refrains from rolling his eyes, and before Stiles can protest, scoops him up into his arms, carrying him bridal-style from the gym.

“Shut up, Scott,” Stiles groans, as Scott opens his mouth, a smirk curling his lips.

Scott’s cackle follows them out into the corridor and all the way to the parked Camaro.

Stiles absolutely _hates_ his best friend.

-

It turns out that sea nymphs exist. Naturally, what with Beacon Hills being the ‘beacon for all things supernatural’ (thanks, Deaton) and whatnot, these vicious sons of bitches decide to visit.

And naturally, with Stiles’ luck and the crowd he hangs with (read: werewolves and various supernatural creatures), he ends up on the riverbank, attempting to beat a nymph back into the water with his lacrosse stick.

Next to him, Scott is wolfed out and slashing viciously at three nymphs that have surrounded him. On the slope of the opposite bank, Allison is taking out nymphs with an arrow through the neck or chest. Derek and Isaac are by the bridge, taking on an entire group of these fuckers.

Stiles loses his footing on the muddy bank just then. His stick slips from his grasp and the next thing he knows he’s on his back, being dragged by the foot into the river.

An emphatic “ _Shit!_ ” is all he gets out before he’s underwater. He struggles for the surface, but the nymph’s got its tail wrapped around the length of his body. It’s constricting, squeezing like a boa constrictor, until Stiles’ chest is on fire and he involuntarily opens his mouth to breathe. Water rushes in, choking him in the worst possible way.

When the pressure finally eases off his chest and Stiles feels himself being dragged above the surface, he splutters and coughs for a good half-minute before he’s able to crane his head round to see – surprise, surprise – that Derek’s saved him. Again.

“Oh my god, this has got to stop,” are the first things Stiles croaks out, even as the fingers of his hand curl tighter into the soaked fabric of Derek’s shirt.

Derek makes an unimpressed face at him as he deposits him on the riverbank. “Next time I’ll just let you drown, shall I?”

“Sounds good to me,” Stiles mutters darkly, though he shoots Derek a weary smile. “Thanks, man.”

-

The worst part about being a prisoner in his own body, Stiles decides, as the Nogitsune uses his hands to snap the hospital security guard’s neck, is that he’s still conscious, aware of his surroundings and of _exactly_ what it feels like to feel the life leaving a person’s body.

His feet are led past the reception, where he sees Melissa on the phone. _No_ , he thinks wildly, as the Nogitsune steers him towards her. _Nononono not Melissa, please._

“Mrs. McCall, hi,” the Nogitsune says, pulling his mouth into a grin.

Melissa turns, a smile on her face when she sees it's him, and Stiles almost stops breathing because he knows, he knows he’ll never forgive himself if he – if the spirit – does anything to Melissa. "I'll be with you in a moment," she says into the receiver, before ending the call. "Stiles, how are you? Haven't seen you around lately."

 

 _You'd be surprised how much of_ me  _hasn't been around lately,_ Stiles thinks bitterly, earning him laughter from the creature inside him.

 

"I've been busy," the fox says with his mouth, "You know, school and stuff."

 

"Well, next time you're over, I'll make that casserole you like for dinner, how bout that?" Melissa smiles warmly at him and Stiles feels fear settle heavy in his gut, fear of what the spirit is about to make him do.

 

"Thanks, Melissa," he hears himself saying, waving jauntily at her before - thank  _God_  - his feet take him past the front desk, away from Mrs. McCall.

 

He's barely finished breathing his sigh of relief when he realizes where the Nogitsune is going - towards the second floor of the hospital.

 

 _Allison_.

 

She'd been admitted after a run-in last week with some witches (yeah, apparently those were a thing) had cursed her with something that made her laugh uncontrollably at everything anyone said. Which was actually way more ominous than it sounded, because it'd gotten to the point where Allison had something akin to an asthma attack every time someone spoke. Denton hD said there was nothing anyone they could do except wait for the curse to wear off, so Allison'd been kept in isolation ever since.

 

Which is why the Nogitsune going into her room and potentially _i_ _nteracting_ with her could lead to her suffocating to death. Death by laughter induced by witch curse. What a way to go.

 

The spirit knocks on 207, then pushes its way in without waiting for a response. "Allison, hey," the fox says brightly, crossing the room and settling, cross-legged, on the edge of her bed.

 

Allison eyes him warily, but can't help the giggle that escapes her. "Stiles, you know you can't be here," she hisses, once the giggles subside.

 

The creature has Stiles duck his head sheepishly and grin up at Allison. "I'm sorry, I just. There's something I kinda need your help with."

 

Allison laughs again, this time louder and longer than the first time. By the end of it, she's wheezing for breath. "Need my he - help? With what?"

 

"Well, you see," the Nogitsune purrs, curling Stiles' lips into a sinister smirk. "Scott's kinda my best friend. And I wouldn't wanna betray his trust by killing his mother. You, on the other hand," the spirit pauses, considering. "I have no qualms about killing you."

 

Allison's laughter this time is shrill, hysterical, the fear in her eyes apparent for all to see. The creature preens, feeding off of Allison's terror, off Stiles' pain. It reaches out with Stiles' hands, rising up in his body until he's kneeling with one knee on either side of Allison, hands locked in a chokehold around her throat.

 

Allison's eyes are locked on his, her erratically jumping pulse growing fainter with each passing second. Stiles watches as the life leaves her body, listens with the fox's ears as her heartbeat grows weaker. He feels wetness on his cheeks and realizes he's crying, tears tracking down his face that he's as helpless to stop as the hands he has around his friend's throat.

 

Then the door to Allison's room bursts open and Stiles feels himself pulled off Allison by someone stronger, their arms wrapping around his chest to stop him from attacking her again. But the spirit is stronger, pissed off and juiced up on all of Allison's pain.

 

Stiles' elbow jabs backwards, catching Derek - because it's always Derek, isn't it - in the gut, hard. The werewolf is thrown into the wall with enough force that the plaster cracks and a Derek-shaped indent forms in it.

 

The fox whirls on Derek, Allison momentarily forgotten for now. "Thought you could stop me, did you?" it sneers, prowling forwards as Derek gets slowly to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth on a shirtsleeve. "Well, I got news for you, pal. You can't. Not you, not the _true alpha_ , not the meddling kitsune. I am stronger, _better_ , than all of you, and -"

 

Its next words are cut off by Derek ramming into Stiles, pinning him to the wolf with a claw on the back of his neck. Behind him, Stiles hears Allison laughing and relief washes over him that his friend's alive. The fox goes lax for a moment, sagging against the wall, before lashing out with a foot and catching Derek behind the knees. Derek goes down with a howl, features turning human once more, like being in the Nogitsune's presence alone leeches power from him. In three seconds flat, the spirit has Derek pinned to the floor and has Stiles sitting on his chest, hands on Derek's throat in a sick mimicry of what he - _it_ - did to Allison not five minutes ago.

 

"Well?" Derek says, unflinching even as the fox digs Stiles' fingers harder into his esophagus. "Did you want my permission, or are you going to get on with it?"

 

If Stiles was in control of any part of his body right now, he would totally punch Derek for being such an idiot.

 

"Taunting a Nogitsune?" the creature says, voicing Stiles' thoughts. "Here I thought alphas were supposed to be wise, good at making the right choices."

 

"I am," Derek replies, and Stiles feels his own confusion mirrored in the Nogitsune's, right before Derek surges upwards and bites Stiles' neck.

 

Afterwards, when Stiles comes to, he's alone in his head. He's on the floor, his head lying pillowed on Derek's leg, and the werewolf in question is stroking a light hand through his hair,

 

"Stiles? Stiles," Derek's face comes into view, and the only thing Stiles registers is how _wrecked_ he looks. His hair's a mess, like he's run his hand through it a few too many times, his face is ashen and his eyes are noticeably red-rimmed.

 

"You okay?" Stiles asks, reaching up to pull Derek's hand back onto his head when he tries to pull away.

 

Derek barks (heh, good one, Stiles) out a laugh. "You're asking me? I'm not the one who spent the last week playing host to a freaking Japanese fox spirit!"

 

Stiles clears his throat. "I, uh. About just now - I'm really sor-"

 

"Don't," Derek says sharply, eyes flashing blue for a second. "None of this was your fault, Stiles."

 

"I -" Stiles struggles to sit up, and only manages it by leaning heavily onto Derek once he's upright. He twists around so he can look Derek in the eye. "You shouldn't have done that, Derek."

 

Anger, hurt and disappointment cloud Derek's face. "Shouldn't have saved you?" he snaps incredulously, "Stiles, if you think for one second that I'll let anything happen to your sorry ass I-"

 

"That's not what I meant, dumbass," Stiles says, grinning at Derek's offended expression. "You shouldn't have taunted it like that. It - _I_ \- could've killed you," he admits quietly. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hurt you."

 

"Stiles," Derek says hoarsely, and it's only when Stiles looks up and has to blink to clear his vision that he realizes belatedly that he's crying. Again. How embarrassing.

 

"If you think for one second that I'd let anything happen to you," Derek says, free hand coming up and cradling Stiles' jaw carefully, like he's something precious, "Then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought you were."

 

Stiles snorts. "Romantic, Derek. You always know what to say to make a fella feel special, don't -"

 

Derek chooses that moment to lean in and seal their lips together, effectively shutting Stiles up.

 

There's the sound of retching noises from the direction of the hospital bed. Derek and Stiles break apart to find Allison grinning down at them with her phone in hand, camera end pointed towards them.

 

"I think you two lovebirds shocked the curse from me," she announces happily as she snaps another photo of their stunned faces. "Oh, I'm sending this one to Scott!"

 

\+ 1

**(6 months later)**

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Derek groans, surprising Stiles (and himself, honestly) when he abruptly face plants into the steering wheel, setting off a series of honks that have him wincing.

 

"What? Derek, you okay?" Stiles asks, concern written all over his face as he reaches across the console and laces their hands together.

 

Derek removes his face from the vicinity of the steering wheel and re-focusses on the road. "Fine," he says through gritted teeth. "It's just. My family's big on Thanksgiving, and - um."

 

His fingers twitch with restless energy. Stiles tightens his grip further. "What? Lemme guess. They're not gonna approve of me," Stiles says.

 

It's the way he says it, so matter-of-factly, like he's spent too much of his life being disapproved of to imagine it any differently, that has Derek pulling over on the side of the highway so he can turn and face Stiles.

 

Stiles is blinking at him in surprise. "Whoa, hold on, Der. Are we doing it here? Because I don't think - can't your parents smell if we've had sex or something?"

 

"Stiles, no," Derek says, removing Stiles' hand from the front of his jeans with difficulty and an incredible amount of self-restraint. "Cora already loves you. My parents have been dying to meet you for ages, and Laura -" Derek searches for the right words, "Laura likes messing with you, which is the highs form of acceptance you can get from her."

 

"What I'm trying to say is," Derek hurries to add, "You have nothing to worry about, Stiles. You're already part of the pack."

 

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Stiles is surging forwards to kiss him, heedless of the console that gets in the way. It's heated and messy and the slick pressure of Stiles' tongue against his own makes Derek never want to stop kissing Stiles. When they eventually pull back, even Derek's a little winded. Stiles is panting like he's just run a 10K marathon.

 

"When did you become such a sap, Derek?" Stiles laughs, tipping his head forwards so his forehead's resting against Derek's chest.

 

"Since you, probably," Derek shrugs, because it's true.

 

Later, when they're back on the road, Stiles bodily twists around in his seat to face Derek. "So, you never did tell me why you had such a huge crisis you face-planted into the wheel."

 

"Ah, that." Derek keeps his eyes on the road, and dredges up the last remaining shreds of his dignity. "I, um. I always do the pecan and apple pies. But I've, ah, forgotten, this time. I was a bit... distracted."

 

"Oh," Stiles says, because he knows the reason for Derek's distraction. Knows it very intimately. Was up close and personal with it just before they left to start the drive over to the Hale family house. "Sorry about the, uh." He waves a hand in a vaguely lewd gestures he hopes conveys 'mind-blowing sex we had this morning in the kitchen. And bathroom.'

 

Derek's lips twitch in what Stiles knows is begrudging amusement. "It was worth it, though. Even if I'll probably be disowned for forgetting the pies."

 

"Oh no," Stiles says melodramatically, clutching his hands to his chest in mock horror.

 

Derek gives him the finger, keeping his eyes on the road.

 

"Lucky for you," Stiles says at length, drawing out the sentence. He leans over the centre console. "I make mean pecan and apple pies. Also chocolate mousse, but that's not the point. The point," he lets his lips brush the curve of Derek's ear, revels in the full-body shudder he elicits when he snakes his tongue out to trace it, "is that we can stop on the way to buy ingredients and I can make enough pies to give you all multiple orgasms. How's that sound?"

 

"Pretty fucking amazing," Derek grins at him, bright and unbridled, and Stiles finds himself smiling back.

 

-

"And how was that?" Stiles asks of the Hale family, a few hours later, after they finish his seventh pie and Cora is licking the plate clean.

 

"I'm so full," Cora moans, slumping back against the couch. "I'm never eating again."

 

"You should make the pies from now on, Stiles," Talia says solemnly.

 

"They were all right," Laura says, stealing the last bite off Derek's plate.

 

Derek looks at him, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'll help with the dishes."

 

As soon as they're in the kitchen, Derek has Stiles pinned against the kitchen counter and is taking the plates from his hand so he can crush their lips together in a bruising kiss. 

 

He pulls back and rests their foreheads together. "You're pretty fucking amazing, you know that?" he breathes against Stiles' mouth.

 

Derek feels Stiles' mouth curve into a grin. "Idiot," he says fondly, wrapping his arms more securely around Derek's neck.

 

"Thanks for saving my ass tonight," Derek says.

 

Stiles smirks. "Well, it is a very majestic ass."

 

This, Derek thinks with no small amount of despair, as Stiles slaps pinches his butt playfully and darts away, cackling, this is the man he's chosen to love.

 

He shrugs and gives chase, following Stiles. Because that's what he does.

 

And what he's going to keep doing for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> so, um. thanks for reading and idek this is my first teen wolf fic i only fell in love with these guys this summer
> 
> tell me what y'all thought and if there's anything you think i need to work on (:
> 
> and if you liked it and want more, feel free to prompt me on something :3


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